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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26225536">You Don't Know Who I Am?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linorien/pseuds/Linorien'>Linorien</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Twin Tales [10]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Merlin (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Camelot Remix Eligable, Gen, Pre-Camelot Gwaine, Pre-Canon, secret royalty</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:34:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,677</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26225536</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linorien/pseuds/Linorien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwaine had never really been comfortable as the prince of Lorainne, but escaping would take some planning. But then something happened to give him an idea to leave for good.<br/>OR 5 times Gwaine should've been recognised but wasn't, and one time he sorta was.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gwaine &amp; Merlin (Merlin)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Twin Tales [10]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1228421</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>69</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>You Don't Know Who I Am?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Prompt: recognition failure</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The first time it happened, he nearly hugged the person. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been a rotten day anyway what with the thunderstorm and his horse going lame and then slipping in the mud. Not even a mud puddle. A whole mud lake. Every bit of him was caked in mud. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So much so that the guards at the gate didn’t recognise him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hold!” The guard’s spear was suddenly in his way. “Declare yourself and your purpose here in Lorainne!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwaine groaned. “Come on, I’ve had a rough day. Just let me in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I cannot do that without knowing your business here,” the guard insisted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait. You mean you don’t recognise me?” Surely this wasn’t happening. Perhaps it was just a new guard trying to be extra adherent to the rules. “My name is Gwaine. Son of Lot. My purpose is to take a bath and go to bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Immediately the guard raised his spear and snapped to attention. “Sorry, sir. My lord. Go ahead.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The second time he had been hoping for it. He’d had his servant help him rub mashed black berries and some other plant pastes into his hair to make it darker. It was far from perfect and it was extraordinarily sticky to the touch, but combined with some borrowed clothes from his servant, he didn’t look like himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Besides, the tavern was dimly lit and half the patrons were already tipsy by the time he snuck in. As an unrecognised customer, he had to pay upfront, which was fine. Gareth was always telling him he should do that anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>An hour later and it didn’t matter. He’d been pulled into a rowdy group of other men and after buying a round, was added to their tab. He told them his name was Kay, but none of them actually remembered. All they knew was that he had a bellowing voice when he sang and he knew some alternate versions to many of the classics. So the ale kept flowing, the drum beats kept banging, and none of them realised it was their prince standing with one foot on the table to sing. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Everyone had their helmets on and no one wore their tabard. Like a masked ball of death. An idea his father had after being unseated in a friendly joust by a squire, hardly more than a child. The skills he once commanded had grown rusty as king, where no one dared unseat him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwaine competed for many years in the Mystery Melee but was always defeated by Sir Bors. The first knight had trained Gwaine and his brothers, molding them into the knights they now were. It wasn’t a shock that the old fighter knew him best. But this year Gwaine had a trick up his sleeve. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He fought as bland as anyone else, easily defeating the less experienced knights. His match with Bors came next. (Or technically, his match with the green diamond knight, but Gwaine knew his fighting style just as well as Bors knew his.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waited for Bors to attack first. Something he never did. Then he swatted the incoming blade with his own sword in a move he learnt from a brigand with a stick in the woods. He could tell he’d caught Bors off guard. He went back to a more standard technique for a minute before squatting down and sweeping out a leg to trip Bors. The knight stumbled but the old man was still quick on his feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Although his face was hidden, Gwaine could picture the scowl on Bors’s face perfectly. If this was training, the match would’ve stopped and Gwaine would’ve been lectured on the proprietary of a knightly duel. But instead Gwaine smiled as the fight continued. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He continued to switch up his moves. A twirl that James taught him, an attack he had used against him in a drunken duel in Corvon, and he finished with a sword flick he’d spent the last two months trying to develop. A move all his own invention. He twirled his wrist and suddenly Sir Bors’s sword was flying upward. Gwaine reached up and yanked it out of the sky with a shout of triumph. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The winner of the Mystery Melee had the option to remain unknown. For the first time in six years, the winner remained unknown. Gwaine didn’t want Bors to chew him out for those moves in training the next day.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>He left Lorainne with his horse, some packed bags, and an expensive illusion. The wizard assured him that not even his mother would be able to see through the illusion as long as he refreshed it once a month. Leaves of the henna plant mixed into a paste with his own spit. He had enough to last him a year. A small price in exchange for leaving his life behind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the kingdom, some people still looked at his finery with suspicious looks, wondering if they should know who he was. He tried not to give them any encouragement. He gave fake names in places he only spent the night, but he’d promised Gareth to still go by Gwaine. At least there might be some hope that enchanted letters could still find him. Though he promised not to write for a year at least. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The further he travelled from his former home, the fewer people looked at him with a glimmer of recognition. He was even arrested by guards in Wales for indecent behavior and he was thrown in the mass cells like everyone else. It was a place he got used to seeing. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>He developed a different reputation. Tavern owners knew he’d cause trouble but would always treat the staff fairly. He’d break a table in a fight, but leave extra gold in his room to help cover damages. They berated him and he teased them right back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though many did wish he could keep his nose out of their local business. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>None more so than Mary. She had a small tavern in a little village in the west of Camelot. In the foothills, it saw little traffic, mainly from hunting parties looking for a good drink on their way out of the mountains. It was in a region not well patrolled by the local lord so ruffians frequently demanded their own taxes from Mary. Gwaine had fought them off once, but it only made them demand more money when Gwaine had left. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So now that he was back, Mary couldn’t help a groan. But she couldn’t convince him to leave before she had to go welcome two new customers. Gwaine sat back in his chair and grinned to himself. He’d make sure this time they wouldn’t bother Mary again. They might have to take the fight outside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Although, Gwaine sat up slightly, it seemed they were going to come in first. He would wait till they thought they had gotten what they wanted and then follow them outside. Except, someone spoke up first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take your hands off her,” the blonde stranger said, raising partly out of his seat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dagr snarled, “I’m gonna make you pay for that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cute brunette snorted. “I’d like to see you try.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwaine instantly liked him. The easy confidence in the face of someone bigger than him. Reminded him of Gaheris. Perhaps he also had magic. Although, in Camelot it was incredibly rare. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or perhaps he just didn’t know what he was getting into. The blonde snapped at him as the other thugs sauntered into the tavern. Apparently the fight was going to be in here. He stood and walked closer. From the corner of his eye he saw Mary look skyward, praying to whatever deity she believed in for limited damage. “You two have got yourself into a bit of a pickle?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should leave while you’ve got the chance.” The blonde squared his shoulders and adjusted his stance. If this man wasn’t a knight, Gwaine would eat his sock. The other man had hurriedly stood, but his arms were loose at his side. Definitely not a fighter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re probably right,” Gwaine said easily. He raised his glass and finished off his drink before thrusting it to the nearest thug. Dagr grabbed it reflexively. His mistake. With a quick punch, he was down on the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The brawl was on. The regulars quickly grabbed their drinks and got out of the way, but not so far as to miss the entertainment. Gwaine punched another, kicked the legs out from under a third, and generally kept trying to keep them down. But he was curious about the brunette. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He moved toward the counter, dodging the plates flying with surprising accuracy across the room. “Pass the jug?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other man passed it without question. Gwaine took a swig. Not even the good stuff. He smashed it into the face of the man approaching behind him. “What do they call you, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Merlin,” he answered, smiling cheerfully. Gwaine’s heart may have done a flip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gwaine,” he smiled widely in return, shaking hands. “Pleasure to meet you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Arthur! Behind you!” Merlin shouted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right. Their fight. Gwaine threw more punches until he saw the glint of a knife. The other man, Arthur, wouldn’t see it in time. Gwaine launched himself across a table and tackled the thug. Unfortunately, he was then stabbed. In the thigh. By the Enchanter’s ballsack that hurt! It was his last thought before his head slammed into the bench on his way down and he was knocked out cold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only later did he realise he had saved a fellow prince who probably would’ve recognised him without the illusion. Only later did he recognise the collections of herbs and scattered notes of Merlin and realise he did have magic. And only later did he realise he’d have to walk all the way back to that little town to retrieve his poor horse. Guinelot wouldn’t let anyone else ride him, but he hoped he let someone else feed him. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“So do any of your siblings share your red hair,” Merlin asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Gareth also-- wait. What?”</span>
</p>
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